Tag: Haven of Peace Academy Page 2 of 23

Lasts

On November 10, 2019

The grief of leaving hits me at odd times.

Josiah just turned twelve and got bacon for his birthday. He was thrilled. And I was wistfully sad to think about how this is the last birthday where anyone will be excited to receive bacon or Pringles or Coco Pops as birthday presents.

There are times when leaving feels like a relief. My job is stressful, often, these days. I am unfailingly determined to finish well, to complete the projects I started, to invest all that I can into this school I adore. People ask me what I want to do next year and I say, I really just want to plant flowers and get to know my neighbors. Do I have to get a job? Because I am tired.

But then I sit here in my office at school, and see the frangipani tree blooming outside my window, and the football games going on behind it. In a few minutes I will go out to watch Lily’s game, and I will see her play with girls she has grown up with, many of them with her skin tone and all of them with a million shared memories. I’ll sit with the other moms and we’ll cheer them on with the expanse of the Indian Ocean as our backdrop, sweating together underneath the wet-blanket of November mugginess.

I relish this place, this moment, this feeling. And I grieve.

Sure, this won’t be my last football tournament. But next time it will be called soccer, and I’ll be surrounded by people I don’t know but who know each other and have their own sub-cultures and millions of shared memories that don’t include me. I’ll have Costco granola bars and fruit snacks in my bag instead of home-popped popcorn; I’ll probably be wearing a jacket. I won’t be known; I will be another new face, the one with the odd story of living half her life in Africa.

Everything is a Last this year. The last time I’ll get to ignore Halloween. The last fourth Thursday in November that will be a work day; the last Thanksgiving I’ll celebrate on a Sunday. The last time I’ll hack up a pumpkin to make pie (because who wants to do that when you have Costco???). The last air conditioned Christmas.

Each day is a Last Day. I think of that often–Today is the last November 9th I will experience here. This week is our last Pamoja Week. Our last International Day will be this Friday. It will be Number 16 for us. How will I live my life without International Day? I guess the same way that I’ve lived sixteen Thanksgivings without celebrating on the fourth Thursday of November. Part of my heart has always been somewhere else. But I am used to that by now.

What’s ironic is that in August of 2012, I wrote a post called “The Year of Lasts.” It was the beginning of Gil’s last year as chaplain at HOPAC. We knew we would be returning to Tanzania after a year, but our role at Haven of Peace Academy would be as parents only. After spending ten years of our lives breathing and bleeding HOPAC, we were moving on. I had no intention of returning to be on staff and I grieved leaving that life. Three years later, when the way opened widely for me to return, it totally took me by surprise. So in these Lasts, I rejoice in the icing on the cake–that I got to come back and work at HOPAC for three more years that I never thought I would get.

So I guess I need to be reminded that last is not always Last. Our God is surprising. After years and years of saying good-byes that I thought would be permanent–and weren’t–I’ve learned instead to say, “See you later. The world is small.”

There’s a blessing, though, in knowing that each day is a Last. Many don’t get that privilege–loss and change often come suddenly, without a chance to say good-bye, to finish well, to savor the Lasts. So the grief reminds me to slow down and savor what I do have today. Because that’s how I should be living my life anyway.

Raising Kids Means More Than Just Being a Good Parent

By Amy Medina

On September 8, 2019

In Parenting

The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street is a most delightful book that our whole family enjoyed, but the best part came here:

“Papa cleared his throat. ‘Please, may I give a toast?…I have always believed that raising kids means more than just being a good parent and trying to do the right things,’ Papa went on, his voice beginning to wobble. ‘It means surrounding your kids with amazing people who can bring science experiments and jam cookies, laughter and joy, and beautiful experiences into their lives. From every part of my being, I want to thank you for giving me and my family the gifts of friendship and love.”

My voice started to wobble as I read that part to my kids, because I feel the same way about our Haven of Peace Academy community.

They don’t just teach my kids science, math, history, art, literature, and music.

They write them notes for their first day of school and leave cookies on their desks. They encourage them to run for Student Council. They turn our campus into a beautiful garden. They come to their soccer games and cheer them on. They recommend good library books and teach them to swim. They pray with my kids and for them, and passionately live a life of love in front of them. They take them into the community on service projects and into the rainforest. They deal patiently with my children’s weaknesses, some of which can be pretty exhausting. They dry tears, and then shed some themselves when they see my children succeed.

At Haven of Peace Academy, my kids are surrounded by amazing people who bring beautiful experiences into their lives. And from every part of my being, I want to thank this staff for giving me and my family the gifts of friendship and love.

Haven of Peace Academy Staff, 2019-2020

Yes, it really is this beautiful.

Ricky (interim director), me, Grace (middle school principal, who delivered her baby four days after this picture was taken (!), and Matt (high school principal)

First day!

Johnny, second grade

Taking his job seriously to show the new girl around

Lily, fifth grade

They’re actually not supposed to run on the sidewalk, but it was the first day. Still working on that.

All I Knew Was That I Didn’t Want to be Michael Scott

By Amy Medina

On July 7, 2019

In Other

I’m so used to processing my thinking in this space. These past two years, It has been odd for me to do a job for 45+ hours a week and yet write so little about it. And now that I’m in America (did you know that? I’m in
America for the summer–surprise!), people ask me, “So how is it being
principal?” And I open my mouth and I smile and nothing comes out. How do I even start? How do I begin to describe an experience that I haven’t really processed yet?

I think I watched way too much of The Office before I became an administrator. Michael Scott gave me the impression that bosses just prowled around all day, looking over people’s shoulders and distracting
them from doing their jobs. I knew I didn’t want to be him, but I wasn’t
exactly sure what a good boss did do.

I had spent almost 20 years involved in education, so I had worked for principals before, of course, but I really hadn’t the foggiest idea of what a day in the life of a principal actually looked like. How would I figure out what I was supposed to do all day? It’s probably a good thing I didn’t admit this two years ago. You might have wondered why on earth I was qualified for the job. I actually wondered that myself, honestly. I just blindly trusted the people around me who assured me that they knew I could do it.

It took me approximately five minutes to realize that I didn’t
need to worry about figuring out what I was supposed to do. It’s like a
game of Whack-a-Mole. The first mole popped up, and as soon as I whacked it, five more took it’s place. And from that first day, I just kept whacking moles for the next two years. They just never stopped popping up. If this had been Chuck E. Cheese’s, I definitely would have earned 20 bazillion prize tickets. (Don’t worry; no children are actually whacked.)

So. Other than being really busy, how is it being principal?

I love it. Yes, I love it. I say that with no hesitation. This is a school that Gil and I helped to build, how could I not love it? I get to be a part of the 100+ staff from all over the world that make up Haven of Peace Academy. I supervise about twenty of them and work alongside the rest. The level of love and trust we have for each other, despite occasional conflicts, is extraordinary. We are not just a work place, we are a community.

I love these kids. Oh my gosh, I love these kids. Some of them crack me up. They come up to talk to me and I start laughing before they even
speak, because I know it will be hilarious. Lots of them make me
cry. There’s the ones who are struggling to read but then win every race
on Sports Day. The ones who are struggling to speak English but create
masterpieces in art class. And the ones who are very familiar with my office. I think those ones hold the deepest places in my heart.

I read and commented on 150 report cards during the last week of
school. It made my head spin and drove my stress up to an unhealthy level but I felt like a proud parent. So much progress evidenced on those ordinary pieces of paper. Evidence of teachers who poured their very souls into
children–countless hours of energy and love. Evidence of children who read and calculated and imagined for 180 days, who allowed their minds to be expanded and their responsibility to be stretched. I’m so proud of
my school.

That’s the easy part to talk about. Yes, I love it. But this job, these past two years, have been so much more complex than that. I love it, and it is intense. That intensity is the part that I haven’t really processed, nor can I really write about in detail. Teachers struggling through anxiety or depression. Kids with learning disabilities that we don’t know how to handle,
nor are there better options available in Tanzania. Kids coming to school with emotional needs that we can’t meet but suck us dry. Countless parents desperate to get their kids into our school, and I have to break their hearts.

And the recruiting: Not enough teachers. Never enough teachers. A teacher who says yes and then has to back out due to medical concerns. Will God provide? He always does. Somehow. But still I am anxious. It all is a weight I fight to cast off my shoulders and onto His.

And then there’s me: Will I be enough? Can I be enough? Every time
I think I’m ahead, another five moles pop up. I’m a task-driven person, and
this is a job full of tasks, but I worry, constantly, that I’m choosing tasks
over people. In working with teachers/parents/students, I straddle the line between grace and policy, forgiveness and law. Am I getting it right? I second guess myself often. Did I say the right thing in that email? Did I handle that discipline situation correctly? Well, no time to ponder that, because I’m off onto the next thing. Make me enough, I pray. But I won’t ever be. It’s only God who is enough. So let the stress go, Amy.

Two years down. Have I succeeded? Well, at least I know I’m not
Michael Scott. At least there’s that. And that’s something, right?

My core Primary (Elementary) teachers this year. We’ve been through thick and thin, we seven. I am so grateful for them.

HOPAC Primary Team

My “other” team….the office staff: Principals, operations, procurement, finance, counseling and other admin

Our brand new beautiful Performing Arts Centre

This is why I love Primary: First grade teacher asked her students to copy down their favorite Bible verse….and this is what one of them gave her. Now I just made your day, didn’t I? You’re welcome.

My heart.

Josiah Went to the Amani Rainforest

By Amy Medina

On March 10, 2019

In Other

(So did Gil, who took all these wonderful pictures.)

Going to Amani in fifth grade is the highlight of the year, and since that tradition started way back when I taught fifth grade at HOPAC, it’s especially fun to see my own kids go. In fact, one of my first posts on this blog was from an Amani trip!

African violets are native to the Amani Rainforest.

So are chameleons of all shapes and sizes.

These guys are much more interesting in the forest than in my bathroom.

The Back-Burner of Missions (and Why It Shouldn’t Be That Way)

By Amy Medina

On February 10, 2019

In Other

Four-year-olds don’t walk, they twirl and prance. They think everything about the world is fascinating, even writing their names or matching shapes or learning to sit criss-cross applesauce.

On Saturday, I met dozens of them. They visited our kindergarten room while some teachers and I asked them to count and say their letters and watched them play and dance while we took notes. Some were shy, some were cheerful, some, we could tell, would be a handful, but that just made them all the more charming.

I was enchanted. But I was also depressed. There were just too many. Three times too many, to be exact. All of them had come to be assessed for next year’s kindergarten class, and all of them were wonderful. But there were just too many. I will only be able to offer places to about a third of them.

Their parents sat outside drinking coffee under the trees. Their eyes were hopeful, expectant, a little nervous. I tried not to make much eye contact. It is just too hard, knowing that I will have to turn down most of them. I don’t want to get their hopes up.

Their emails turn my stomach into knots. We’ve never wanted any other school for our child since she was born! HOPAC is our first and only choice. My child loved his visit with you! He is so excited to attend HOPAC now.

I know my response will break their hearts. Your child was wonderful; we just don’t have room. He can join the 40 other children on our waiting list for that class.

We never advertise, but we never fail to have at least sixty applicants for kindergarten. For some families, it’s because of the Christian environment at HOPAC. For some, it’s our reputation of sending students to the world’s top universities. For others, it’s the price. Among similar schools in Tanzania, we offer the best quality for the lowest fees.

Mystified, parents will ask, Why don’t you just expand?

And the answer is always the same: We can’t get enough teachers.

Though over half of our students are Tanzanian, we are a missionary school, relying on volunteers from westernized countries to raise support to teach here. Of course, we hire Tanzanians whenever we can, but finding Tanzanian Christians who are qualified to teach in an international school is not easy. Which means we are dependent on the Church (mainly from the US and Europe) to send us teachers.

But for some reason, recruiting and sending missionary teachers is not a priority for the Church, or even for most mission agencies. Maybe because teachers fall into the category of second-class missionaries. Sometimes it feels like church planters or aid workers seem more exciting or important.

I don’t understand why teachers are often on the back-burner of missions. Parents of all kinds of religious faiths are pounding down the door of our Christian school, desperate for their kids to attend. We get the privilege of influencing those kids for seven hours a day for thirteen years. We teach with a biblical worldview. We train our students in poverty alleviation. The gospel permeates everything we do. How is this ministry not a priority?

Please, Church, prioritize missionary teachers. Find them. Encourage them. Support them. It’s one of the most strategic avenues of missions that I’ve witnessed in my twenty years overseas.

And if you’re a Christian teacher, why not you?